


'Till Death do Us Part: Out of the Fire

by Wolfstang14



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfstang14/pseuds/Wolfstang14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My version of what happened after 9x24, rated T for possibly violent imagery. Episode title and characters belong to Donald Bellisario.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gibss and Abby

_Cole ripped the seat back open, revealing the well-packed bomb, complete with a smart phone. His face fell at the sheer mass and devilishness of it, his eyes darting back and forth, trying to take it all in. Gibbs raised his eyebrows and the convict jerked his head away from the Navy Yard._

_“Get out of here. It’s too close to the building.” Cole said, his breath coming hard and fast. On instinct, Gibbs turned to the half-windows looking into Abby’s lab. He could see her running around frantically, ignoring the flashing lights and blaring sirens._

_“Go! Get her out of here!” Gibbs looked back one last time at the man who had killed so many, wondering how he could place his trust in this cocky convict. Cole’s mouth twitched up in a half smile._

_“It’s not the danger, it’s the fun.”_

_Gibbs’ mind was made up. Almost reverently he handed his favorite knife over to the former bomb tech, looking deep into the man’s blue eyes. Not a word was spoken. Cole nodded, knowing that this was likely going to the last person he would ever see._

Gibbs wades his way through the veritable sea of people leaving the Navy Yard- one lone speck fighting against the chaotic current desperately following the order to get out, get away from danger. As he pushes his way past a bulky man dressed in Navy fatigues, ignoring the man’s startled order to leave, his mind flashes to the vision of Abby desperately trying to pack together the evidence she had collected in the Dearing case, ignoring the clear danger just outside her lab. He grits her teeth at her stubbornness. Why couldn’t she follow directions just this once? Why couldn’t she see that her life was infinitely more valuable than a bunch of material things?

Why couldn’t she understand that he couldn’t lose another daughter?

Before he is even aware of it, Gibbs is at the building’s lobby. The small part of his brain that is still thinking rationally warns him against using the elevator, so he rushes down the stairs instead. Halfway down the steps, his gut instinct sends out a warning. _Faster_ it tells him, _run faster._ He pushes his aging body to its limits, fearing, _knowing_ that Cole wouldn’t be able to disarm the bomb in time, that Dearing is mere seconds from sending his fatal message. There’s no time to get Abby out of the building, but his military-trained brain is already thinking of how to get her to the hallway, a place of solid wall and no windows, a place much safer than the lab.

As Gibbs bursts into the lab, the hair on the back of his neck prickles. The lab is eerily quiet, save for the blaring alarm. He keeps running, and looks up in time to see Abby racing from her office towards him, Bert clutched firmly under her arm. She is heading towards the hallway, but Gibbs’ instinct tells him he’s too late.

There’s only one option left.

“Abs!” he yells, leaping towards the scientist. He wraps his arms around her in a protective hug, and as they fall to the ground, it happens. He sees the explosion first, the fireball shattering the windows into thousands of deadly shards, and then a concussive _BOOM_ takes away his hearing. As the pair hit the floor, glass, brick and metal fly around the room, striking the fragile human flesh mercilessly.

The last thing Gibbs sees is Abby’s wide and terrified eyes before something large and dark hits both of them with a tremendous force and his world goes completely black.

…..

Abby wakes up slowly, struggling to pull out of the black mire that threatens to pull her under. It takes her an inordinate amount of time to become somewhat aware of her surroundings, but when she does, three things are made terrifyingly clear.

She can’t hear, she can’t see and something heavy is wrapped around her, making it incredibly difficult to breathe.

She struggles and thrashes until the suffocating weight shifts and then finally moves off of her. Her air-starved lungs are mercilessly assaulted by air tainted with acrid smoke and dust, and she can see small fires still burning around the room. Coughing, she looks around her destroyed lab, desperately trying to piece together what had happened. She doesn’t remember mixing any chemicals or using any explosive compounds… at least she _thinks_ she wasn’t using anything like that. She turns her head towards the doorway and finds her vision blocked by the shadowed head of another person.

Abby shrieks and rolls away, only to cry out even louder when her right arm throbs with pain. She collapses and for the first time notices the discolored lump jutting out of her arm. Groaning softly, she clutches the injured limb to her chest and forces herself to turn back to the other person. It takes her a few seconds to recognize the limp body, but when she does, the shock causes her to stagger backwards.

_Gibbs. GIBBS!_

She crawls over to his motionless form, her breathing ragged and pained. What could have caused him…

Oh God.

In an almost overwhelming flood of thoughts Abby’s memory of the explosion comes back- trying to save the evidence against Dearing, Gibbs racing towards her with a terrified look on his normally stoic face, his full body tackle that had driven her to the floor and broken her arm and the terrible explosion that had knocked the both of them unconscious. His actions had saved her life, but he had likely sacrificed his own in doing so.

When she reaches his unmoving form, she presses his fingers deep into his neck, as if her willpower alone will force Gibbs’ pulse back to life. Up close, in the flickering light of the fires, she can see that he is in horrendous shape. Glass and metal fragments are embedded deep in his body, and numerous gashes, including one large one across the side of his head, form rivulets of blood that run to a pool on the floor. He too has a misshapen lump protruding from his right arm, but much worse is his clearly broken right leg- it’s twisted unnaturally to one side while the tibia and fibula jut out from the skin like macabre sign posts. 

When Abby feels Gibbs’ pulse, her initial relief is lost to despair when she feels just how rapid and weak it is. She can see from the faint movement of his chest that indicates that he is breathing, but only shallowly, and his skin is rapidly losing color. Suddenly Gibbs makes a feeble gurgling gasp and his breathing stops entirely.

“Gibbs? Gibbs!” Abby’s voice sounds pathetically faint, especially to her own damaged ears. Tears sting her eyes as she desperately tries to preform CPR with her good arm, crying Gibbs’ over and over. Her cries turn to curses as the minutes pass. Where are the EMTs? How could they not have responded to the bomb threat by now!?

As her efforts continuously fail, Abby grows more and more desperate, pounding at Gibbs’ chest uselessly until she forgets her injury and pushes Gibbs’ chest with her broken arm. The overwhelming agony, combined with the stress of the day and her weakened state causes her head to spin, and she sinks to the ground next to Gibbs. As her eyes begin to close, Abby’s mind flashes to her co-workers and friends, who she knows did not leave the building before the explosion.

Tony, Ziva, McGee. Had they all suffered the same fate? Tears leak once more from Abby’s eyes as she thinks of the fates of her co-workers who had become her family after all these years. Her vision wavers, and she reaches out to grab Gibbs’ hand. Her other arm lands on something soft, and with a massive effort, she looks over and just makes out the familiar shape of Bert, miraculously untouched by the explosion. She pulls the stuffed hippo close and closes her eyes.

Then she knows no more.


	2. Tony and Ziva

“You need to get out of here now!” The time for courtesy is long past, and Ziva does not hesitate to grab the older agent’s arm and pull him into the stream of people exiting the building. The old agent looks back long enough to throw Ziva a dirty look, but fortunately (for him) Ziva is halfway in another office and does not see the rude gesture.

The remaining rooms and offices are swiftly evacuated, and Tony, who has been helping Ziva get people out of the building, gives the former Israeli a quick nod.

“That’s all of them. Go on, get out of here Ziva.” He pushes the female agent towards the exit, but she startles him by gripping his arm instead.

“No! I’m _not_ leaving without you!” Pulling on him (and none-too-gently pushing on a pressure point) she leads him to the elevator, forgetting that it is likely the most dangerous way out of the building. Her heart pounding with an almost overwhelming rush of adrenaline, Ziva shoves the still-reluctant Tony into the elevator as soon as the doors open and once inside, stabs the ‘lobby’ button as hard as she can while muttering a quick prayer in Hebrew.

As the machine whirrs to life and begins to descend, and begins to descend, Ziva reaches back to the support bar. In doing so, her hand brushes up against Tony’s, and before she could move it away, his fingers curl around hers and he gives her hand a gentle squeeze. Once, many years ago, Ziva would have yanked her hand away from his, but now she is glad for the reassuring contact and even manages a small squeeze in return. She draws confidence from her partner-who-is-more-than-a-partner and for a few brief moments even allows herself believe that they will be fine.

As if the universe itself had heard her thoughts, there is a muted BOOM, and the elevator shakes as if it had been struck by a giant’s fist. The lights flicker, and then go out as chunks of ceiling fall. Tony and Ziva are thrown to the elevator’s floor. Instinctively Ziva rolls on top of Tony to protect him and clutches his hand as they are pummeled by debris.

Ziva desperately tries to recall her Mossad training as the two are buried in rubble, but suddenly a hunk of twisted metal crashes onto her legs, causing her to scream in agony. Her scream is cut short as a chunk of ceiling strikes her head, knocking her unconscious. Her forehead strikes Tony’s, causing him to black out as well.

The two lay limp on the floor as the rubble continues to fall.

…..

Tony wakes to a body that aches all over and a splitting headache. He would like nothing more than to lay back and sleep off the pain, but in the dusty gloom he can see Ziva lying on top of him, and she’s not moving. He coughs once, jolting both of them, and then frees a hand to gently run it through her dust-covered hair.

“Zi.” He murmurs, not able to conjure any louder of a sound. When she doesn’t respond to either his voice or his hand, he grasps her shoulder and shakes it, coughing once more to clear his dust-logged throat.

“Ziva!” he rasps, slightly louder this time.

No response.

Frantic, panicked, he shoves two fingers against her throat, only relaxing once he feels her pulse. Thankfully it’s fairly steady, but it’s far too weak and rapid than it should be. Gathering his strength, he takes a deep breath and yells her name. To his complete surprise, her brown eyes snap open and stare at him, while her hand tightens painfully around his wrist. He tries to speak, to calm her down, but his scream and the clogging dust are too much for his damaged throat and he starts to hack uncontrollably. After spitting up a globule of blood and dust, Tony takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the fact that his throat feels like it’s on fire. He turns to Ziva, who is watching him with concern written all over her face.

“You okay Ziva?” he whispers hoarsely, trying to ignore his pain. She nods and shifts, and her face suddenly transforms into a mask of pain.

“My leg” she grunts, her voice just as raspy as his. “It’s trapped. I cannot pull it free.” Moving slowly, Tony ever-so-carefully pulls his body out from under Ziva’s body, gingerly checking for injuries of his own that might impede him from helping Ziva. Fortunately, other than the nearly overwhelming headache and the lungful of dust, he is unharmed, and he knows he has Ziva to thank for it- and she clearly took the worst of the damage. She’s covered in lacerations and one arm looks to be broken, but worst of all is her leg, which is crushed underneath one of the metal light fixtures. Tony gets up shakily and hooks his fingers under the light’s frame and begins to lift it, only to stop when Ziva lets out a cry of pain.

The small Israeli turns her head and looks Tony directly in the eye while speaking through gritted teeth, “Just…get…it…off…of…me!”

Tony grunts, and with one last massive heave, pulls the twisted frame up long enough for Ziva to grab her leg and pull it free. Her breath coming in rapid in shallow bursts, she quickly removes her shoe and sock and rolls her pants leg up. Tony looks down and catches his breath, struggling to suppress a cry of disgust.

Ziva’s leg is grossly swollen and black. When he reaches down to touch it, he recoils- her leg is cold and stiff, all-too-similar to the flesh of a corpse. Ziva looks down as well, closes her eyes, and lets out a shaky breath. Her leg is trembling, and Tony can see that she’s making a tremendous effort to put aside her pain.

“The artery is broken.” Ziva says in a tight voice. “It’s bleeding into the muscle…” her voice trails off as she pats her side, finally pulling out her knife.

“Ziva, what the _hell_ are you doing?!?” Tony yelps, leaning forward to grasp the knife. “You’re not thinking straight! Give me that knife before…” Ziva cuts him off.

“I _am_ thinking straight Tony! If I don’t relieve the pressure in my leg, I could lose it! I do not know how much longer I can hold on; I need you to help me!” Her voice is tight with pain.

“Me!” Tony yelps, “I’m _not_ sticking a freakin’ _knife_ in your leg! You’re a tough ninja, I’m sure you can hang in there until the EMTs…” Ziva slaps the knife in his palm. Her deep brown eyes are wide with pain, and her next words take him aback.

“ _Please_ Tony. I cannot do this by myself. I can’t lose my leg.” Tears gather in the corners of her eyes and Tony realizes just how much pain she is in. “Tony, help me please.”

His fingers close around the handle. “What do I do?”

Ziva takes a deep breath, clearly trying to steady herself. Placing her finger on her blackened knee, she traces a line down to midway on her leg. “Cut a line from my knee to here, both sides.” Tony idly wonders how Ziva can remain so calm when she’s talking about cutting open her own leg. “Once you have done that, you need to...to…” she pauses, breathing heavily, then continues, “you need to massage my leg until the blood flows red- it’ll be black first. Once it’s red, you’ll need some piece of cloth to bind the wounds.”

After removing his suit and shirt, Tony adjusts his grip on the knife handle and positions the blade above Ziva’s knee. He hesitates at first, but seeing Ziva’s pain-filled eyes he takes a deep breath and sinks the blade into his partner’s flesh. Ziva arches her back, a high whining sound escaping from her mouth. Tony almost stops right then, but Ziva grits her teeth and between sharp, grating breaths gasps, “ _Keep going!_ ”

Tony’s teeth grind as he draws the knife down her leg, trying to ignore the squelching sound of flesh being torn open and the sickly black blood that oozes out of the wound. Every inch the knife travels causes Ziva to arch her back and groan, but not once does she cry or scream.

It seems to take forever, but finally the loathsome task is finished and hurls the gore-covered knife away from him and massages Ziva’s leg until her blood flows red. He finishes by tying his shirt around the wound as tightly as he can.

Looking at Ziva, he becomes alarmed at her pale color and her shallow breathing. It’s clear she’s in a great deal of pain and is fading fast, and crushes a piece of plaster in frustration; his inability to help Ziva makes him want to scream in fury. However, screaming will do nothing for his partner, so he gently wraps his arms around her petite frame and holds her close. Only when the emergency crews pry the damaged elevator doors open with the Jaws of Life does he relinquish Ziva’s still body into their hands. 


	3. McGee

“McGee! Get out! Now!” The director’s voice rings out sharp and clear across the building. In the past, the authoritative tone would have sent the round-faced agent scurrying to follow orders, but Tim had grown a great deal in his eight years as a field agent.

“Just one second Director!” Tim calls out as his fingers fly across his keyboard with the speed and accuracy of many years of practice. He’s desperately trying to send every last shred of evidence to his jump drive. He knows it’s dangerous to stay in the building with a bomb just outside the wall, but he cannot lose everything that they’ve gathered, especially when he had possibly found something that would lead them to Dearing.

He will _not_ let Harper Dearing win.

As Tim’s fingers fly desperately faster and faster over the keyboard, a movement in his peripheral vision makes him look toward the exit, where he catches sight of Tony and Ziva running toward the elevator, despite the evident danger the explosion posed.

“Use the stairs! Tony, Ziva, use the stairs!” he cries, but his words are lost in the chaotic din surrounding the bullpen. His computer gives a sudden trill, and in the brief moment it takes to look down and see that the upload was complete, his two co-workers have disappeared into the metal box. Cursing softly under his breath at his co-worker’s stupidity, Tim shuts off his computer and throws on his backpack, praying that the elevator will bring his friends to safety. As he starts towards the stairs, his thoughts roam towards Abby, causing his throat to tighten- he hasn’t seen her around recently.

He needs to find her, he needs to make sure she’s safe. He won’t let that crazed bastard hurt…

**BOOM!**

Within a matter of seconds, the bullpen is transformed into something resembling a war zone as Dearing’s “message” detonates, tearing the area apart. Glass, metal and brick fly in all directions, pictures are blown off the walls, fires ignite and bodies fall.

McGee never knows what hits him- literally. One second he’s stepping out of the box of cubicles, and the next he is thrown backwards by an explosive force. His head snaps back while a tongue of flame sears his neck and lower jaw. His body slams sideways into Tony’s desk, snapping several ribs and making it suddenly very difficult to breathe. He groans once, and then slides to the floor.

His head lolls to one side as blood drips out of his mouth and ear, and he knows no more.


	4. The Team

Death hovers over Bethesda Naval Hospital, waiting to wrap its dark hands around the flood of broken and wounded flood of humanity that streams into the hospital’s doors. Already many have succumbed, their lifeless bodies zipped into body bags or more commonly, shrouded in white sheets. No one, not even the most veteran of doctors, can remember when so many wounded and dead had filled the halls. The victims that are able to survive a move are transported to other area hospitals to make room for the critically injured.

In one dual ICU room, four NCIS personnel are crammed together. Ziva and Gibbs both lay unconscious on hospital beds, separated only by a curtain that is currently open, allowing the rooms’ other two occupants to see one another. Tony sits next to Ziva, who is still under sedation from her surgery to fix up her damaged leg, holding her hand and rubbing it gently with a thumb. His other hand taps out a staccato rhythm on his pants leg as he stares blankly at the dark-haired woman sitting in the adjoining room. Abby pulls at the strap of the sling holding her right arm immobile against her chest, watching the unconscious Gibbs’ chest rise and fall in time with his breathing tube. Brought in screaming in agony from his injuries, Gibbs had been sedated heavily, and hadn’t moved since then.

The two are waiting, waiting for a change. Neither know where Tim is- all the medical staff can (or will) let them know is that he is in intensive surgery and no one is quite sure of his status. Needless to say, they don’t know where he is or when they can visit him.  Their nerves shot, the two wait in strained silence, occasionally glancing at one another but saying nothing.

Suddenly, Ziva’s monitor gives a shrill beep, jarring Tony and Abby out of their reveres. Ziva shifts, groans, and then slowly opens her eyes, squinting them against the bright glare of the hospital lights. Tony gently grasps her hand in his, causing her to start suddenly and her eyes to snap around to lock onto his.

“Easy there Zi,” he murmurs, loosening his grip on her hand slightly and yet still keeping contact with her. “It’s just me, Tony. You’re in Bethesda Naval Hospital, you’re safe, okay? Just relax.” A look of recognition crosses the former Israeli’s battered face, followed almost immediately by a look of pure horror.

“The bomb!” she rasps, struggling to sit up and setting off numerous alarms in the process. However, she’s still weak from the anesthesia, and soon flops back into her pillows. As two nurses rush in, Ziva turns to Tony, “The bomb, Tony. What happened?” He waits until the nurses fly in and silence the noisy machines, jotting down notes and testing an increasingly irate Ziva. Eventually they leave, stating that a doctor will be in soon, but Ziva has long since dismissed them. Tony and Abby (who joined the group shortly after the alarms had gone off) have her full attention. “I remember the blast… my leg...” her voice trails off as she unconsciously rubs her injured leg. Her eyes then focus back on Tony, and he sees the silent question in her eyes.

“27 confirmed dead. At least twice that number are injured enough to require surgery.” Ziva’s eyes close, and a tear leaks out from her eye.

“Gibbs? Tim?” she whispers.

It’s Abby who answers. “Gibbs is right over there. He was… badly hurt in the explosion.” In a softer voice she adds, “He… he saved me.” Tears fall from her eyes, and she turns away. Tony rubs Abby’s shoulder and took up the narrative.

“We don’t know where Tim is or what happened to him. He’s alive right now, he’s in surgery, but that’s all we know.” Ziva slumps further into her pillows with a low groan. Her face tightens suddenly, and Tony leans forward, concerned. “Ziva, are you… what’s wrong?” he asks as she starts to squirm in pain. Suddenly Ziva stiffens and lets out a blood-curdling yell, her fingers clawing desperately at her damaged leg. Stiches are ripped open as the Israeli writhes in agony, blood spreading from her wounds.  

“Nurse!” Abby screams, her voice tight with fear. Tony leans down, trying to pull Ziva’s hands away from her leg, but her old Mossad training instinctually takes over and before he is even able to process it, Ziva’s fist slams into Tony’s nose, breaking it. As Tony reels back, clutching his heavily bleeding nose, four male nurses rushed in. They struggle to hold Ziva down while an ER doctor inserts a needle into the IV line. A few seconds (and several scratches and bruises) later, Ziva slowly relaxes and falls limply into her bed.

“What in the hell was _that_?!?” one of the male nurses gasps, holding a bleeding arm.

“ _Thab_ ,” Tony spits, “Ib an eb-Mossad offiber. Now will thomone _pleabe_ take care of her leg and my nobe!”

…..

Hours and hours later, Ziva remains sedated, Tony’s nose is re-set, and time continues to pass at a slow crawl. Tony and Abby measure the passing hours in snatches of sleep, pained waiting and bland meals. Not much changes- Gibbs remains unconscious, although he has been taken off of the coma-inducing drugs. Ziva also lies prone, her sedated sleep occasionally interrupted by small twitches of her fingers and feet, and Tim’s whereabouts remain frustratingly unknown.

Then, just as Tony and Abby are preparing to find a decent breakfast, the alarm on the machine attached to Gibbs begins to trill, and the team leader’s blue eyes snap open, wide with panic. His hands fly up, ripping desperately at the tube stuck down his throat, making strange gurgling noises as he struggles to remove it on his own. By now a nurse and a doctor have rushed in, their professionally calm voices overlapping as they make their way to Gibbs.

“Take it easy now, Agent, everything’s alrigh…”

“You’re going to be just fine Agent Gib…”

“If you could just relax pleas…”

“-Have that taken care of in a second…”

“ **STOP**!”

Abby stands in between the two medical staff, her grey eyes blazing.

“For God’s sake, will you stop chatting and get that damned tube out so he can actually relax?!?”

Startled by the Goth’s venomous response, the startled doctor reaches over and carefully extracts the breathing tube, causing Gibbs to emit a weak, watery cough. He coughs again, stronger this time, and the nurse replaces the tube with a breathing mask. As his breathing settles, Abby still glaring fiercely, corners the doctor and growls.

“Good, you’re done. He’s fine, he’s Gibbs. Now go make yourself actually _useful_ and find out the status of Agent Timothy McGee.” The doctor’s mouth opens in protest, but Abby cuts him off, pointing her finger. “No. No excuses. I. Want. Answers. NOW!” The doctor’s mouth snaps close and he turns heel, practically racing out the door, with the nurse trailing behind him.

Abby shakes her head ruefully and sighs, turning back to the grey-haired leader whose blue eyes were sparkling with clear amusement. A soft sound, possibly a chuckle, escapes from under the mask. At that sound, Abby’s rage dissipates, and she crumples, sobbing onto Gibbs’ shoulder, barely missing the numerous tubes and lines leading to his battered body. Gibbs awkwardly swings his arm around to make a one-armed hug.

“Ah… Abs… easy…” Gibbs’ voice is weak, muffled by the oxygen mask, and Abby quickly stands up, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Tony rubs her shoulder, looking down on his boss and swallowing past a lump in his throat. For a moment, all that fills the silence is the hiss of Gibbs’ breathing through the oxygen mask, and then, with an irritable movement, he pulls the oxygen mask down.

“You… okay…?” Abby lifts her sling.

“I’m fine Gibbs, just an oblique fracture. Nothing serious. You… you took the worst.” Gibbs’ eyes close for a moment, and then he turns to Tony. Nothing needs to be said.

“Head got banged around a bit, but it can’t be worse than your headsl… never mind.” Tony’s voice fades just as quickly as his joke, and he swallows, wondering just how in the hell Gibbs can seem so frightening from a hospital bed. “Ziva and I were in the elevator. She landed on top of me when the bomb went off. Her leg was crushed and… well they’ve had to keep her sedated to keep her from tearing her stitches.” The painful words stick in Tony’s throat, and he turns away.

Gibbs’ eyes sweep over to his only female agent’s still form, and a look of sadness crosses his lined face, and suddenly it looks as if he is finally feeling his pain. He’s in the process of returning his oxygen mask when the doctor from earlier bursts in, his face apprehensive.

“Miss Scuito, Agent DiNozzo, Agent Gibbs?” he asks. Three pairs of eyes train on the timid man, and he takes a deep breath before speaking again. “I…I found Mr… I mean Agent McGee. His surgery was just completed. H-he was injured very badly in the explosion- third degree burns on his clavicle, throat and lower jaw. He suffered three broken ribs, a broken arm, and a concussion. He is in a lot of pain right…”

“Will he live?!?” Abby and Tony bark in unison. The doctor raises his hands and nods frantically.

“His surgery went extremely well, and he is expected to make a full recovery within one or two months. He will have a great deal of scarring, and his attending doctor said he may need some cognitive rehab... but he’ll live and recover, yes.” The doctor turns to leave, but then looks over his shoulder.

“Ms. Scuito? I just wanted to let you know: You were the first person Agent McGee asked for when he woke up.”

…..

Two days later the ragged team is settled together in the dual room, but now McGee is occupying the bed where Ziva had been, and she sits in a comfortable chair, crutches leaning up against the arm rest. Gibbs is still in his same bed, although many of the tubes and wires are gone, and his oxygen mask has been replaced by a nasal cannula. Tony sits next to Ziva, holding her hand, while Abby is next to McGee, running her finger down his arm. McGee’s lower face, neck and shoulders are wrapped in yards of white gauze, but his eyes are bright and focused on the Goth’s tired face. A day ago the five had heard that Ducky had suffered a heart attack, and now they are at a loss as to what to do.

Then Gibbs speaks.

“Enough moping. We’re going to do what we’ve always done. We’re going to catch the bastard.”

“We’re a family, and nothing will change that. We will get Dearing, and he will pay.” 


End file.
